


Figures

by purplebullet



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-30
Updated: 2012-04-30
Packaged: 2017-11-04 14:33:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/394923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplebullet/pseuds/purplebullet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's always playing make believe with everyone. John is no exception.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Figures

\--

It's only been about two weeks since Moriarty tried to kill Sherlock and John. Life has gone strangely well since then, without a word from the mad man ever since. It should be unsettling, but after an incredible amount of five days Sherlock dashed outside again to demand a new case from Lestrade, poor sod, and when he came back he'd brought along exactly that. All John remembers from then on is a week of following Sherlock around, trying to help him when he can and in the end, a chase. John loves those.

With said case solved and the criminal (who didn't have destructive tendencies, thank God) locked behind bars, the peace has momentarily returned to Baker Street. John loves action, it keeps him going, but without a bit of a break between the action he'd go mad soon. Sherlock probably wouldn't, though that's because he's a bit mad already.

It's a Friday night and there are three things John wants to watch on TV. He thinks of letting the silly TV shows be for now and watch the romantic comedy he's been meaning to see for a while now, until he remembers Sherlock's previous interest in those silly shows. With the remote loosely in his hand John looks over at the kitchen, where he can barely see Sherlock writing down what are probably formulas on a paper already filled with scribbles. (John's tried to decipher some of it when Sherlock was out, which only resulted in a headache and, after Sherlock's return, a lecture that included plenty of insults.)

"Sherlock," he calls out, lowering the TV's volume to hear a possible answer.

"What?"

Sherlock's always more available when he's simply writing. If he's doing an actual experiment he's a lot more focused so he can be more precise, because experiments need to be executed as perfect as possible and therefore Sherlock needs to block out the rest of the world. When it's just complicated formulas that may or may not be made up from time to time just to confuse John even further when he finds the courage to take a look at them again, Sherlock doesn't zone himself out as much.

"There's some show you used to watch on tonight--"

"I'm busy."

John closes his mouth and nods. He wants to ask if Sherlock can't just abandon the paper for a while, but then he realizes he doesn't have to give up the film he wanted to watch so he keeps silent. He turns back to the TV and changes channels, smiling because he's lucky for once. Usually Sherlock tries to get his way with everything, often just to irritate someone, but John guesses that even Sherlock needs to keep those urges to himself from time to time so he can focus on his work.

John doesn't know what Sherlock found interesting enough about that crap show anyway to actually watch it. He tries not to remember how he himself very much likes to watch _Come Dine With Me_ , and makes himself some tea and a sandwich before the film begins. He looks over at Sherlock a couple of times in the process, waiting for him to ask for tea as well, which never happens. John is a bit relieved, though it wouldn't have been that much work to get an extra cup out, but can't help but send a suspicious look towards the paper Sherlock is still eagerly writing on.

He keeps his mouth wisely shut when he sees a giraffe, an ant and what looks like a two headed fish drawn on the paper. He goes back to the living room, watches the film, and dreams of getting ambushed in Afghanistan by a long-necked troupe of soldiers that look a whole lot like Sherlock.

\--

It's Sunday when John thinks of it again. He's about to turn off the TV and call it a night when he remembers that crap show Sherlock watched before the entire pool thing happened. So he makes his way to the kitchen, where Sherlock's eyes are glued to the microwave, and stops short in confusion.

"It's not on, if you were wondering," he provides helpfully.

"Thinking," Sherlock says, the lack of bite in his answer enough proof that he in fact is. John refrains himself from asking if staring at the microwave is any help and focuses on his purpose of being here in the first place.

"That show you used to watch is on tonight," he says. He's met with silence, though he's fairly certain he can hear some sort of machinery sounds coming from Sherlock's head. "In case you wanted--"

"No."

All right. Sherlock's busy again, John understands. He wonders if Sherlock would ever give up work to watch some telly, even if it's mind numbing. The answer is fairly easy and John huffs out some laughter at his own stupidity as he shakes his head.

"I'm going to bed," he tells Sherlock as he turns around and makes his way out the kitchen.

"Have fun reading your book and doing that other thing."

John pauses in his steps to throw a confused look over his shoulder. Sherlock isn't looking at him and his posture hasn't changed. His hands, which rest on the counter on each side of the microwave, have tightened their grip on the material beneath them, though, which can only mean that Sherlock's thinking isn't satisfactory. John is too confused to ask Sherlock for explanation, so he continues his way to his room and by the time he's upstairs and sitting in his bed, book in hand, he realizes what Sherlock meant.

John pointedly does _not_ have a wank that night just to prove Sherlock wrong.

\--

When Sherlock glances up from the newspaper he's reading and his eyes linger longer than they intended to, John knows he's busted.

"Childish," Sherlock comments with a faint grin settling on his lips. John regrets not taking his book down to throw at him and settles for fleeing into the kitchen instead. He's up for some tea, and if that just so happens to give him the opportunity to hide his embarrassment from Sherlock then so be it.

\--

It's on a Tuesday night that John bursts. Not like he has before; he's not shouting, he's not even angry or irritated, he's just a bit boiling over with curiosity and honest confusion. Sherlock has once again flat out refused to watch what John was sure was a program he liked, and while John gets work is really important for him, he still actually doesn't. John's job is important to him to, but it's not going to keep him from watching things he likes all the time. (He forgets for a moment that Sherlock prefers work over watching TV -- and pretty much anything else.)

"Sometimes I really don't get you," John says as he makes both him and Sherlock some tea. Sherlock apparently can't be bothered to move away from the fridge and its contents.

"Really," Sherlock says dryly, "How surprising."

"No, seriously," John says, turning to look at him. "Every time I think I've figured something out about you, I turn out to be completely wrong."

It's annoying to see the side of Sherlock's mouth quirk up a bit. "I'm sure you're used to it."

John balls a hand into a fist, one that's starting to itch with the urge to plant it somewhere on Sherlock's face.

"I thought you liked that show," John says. He kind of loathes the show Sherlock likes, enough to not call it by name, not even in his thoughts.

"What show?"

John sighs. "Never mind." He moves Sherlock's cup of tea over to him and picks up his own, turning around to take a seat in his armchair.

"What show?" Sherlock repeats, turning away from the fridge. When John turns around he sees Sherlock's red nose and pinkish cheeks; it would've looked adorable on even Anderson, but on Sherlock it's just... funny.

"You know what show," John says, trying not to grin. Sherlock tends to be quite vengeful when being laughed at. "The one with the-- that silly 'you're the father' stuff going on, and all."

Sherlock's quirk of the eyebrow says he's been just as vague as he feels he's being. He can't tell more, though, because he's never watched more than a minute of it, and the few rare times Sherlock watched it John's always updated the blog to avoid the bloody program.

"There was only one show you watched, Sherlock," he says with regained confidence. It takes Sherlock a good five seconds to finally remember it, as if he'd locked it up in a file somewhere buried deep in his mind. Well, considering he deletes things it's not an impossible explanation.

"That," is all Sherlock says, sounding a bit annoyed by the mere memory of it. John gives him an expectant look, which causes Sherlock to turn back to the fridge. "I just watched it a couple of times to make you think I was into it so you wouldn't suspect me being up to anything."

John blinks once he fully comprehends it. Then he gets a little, or very, irritated.

"You made me think-- So you could just go off meeting up with criminals? _By yourself_?"

It's at that moment that John realizes he really doesn't know Sherlock. And then he gets scared, just a bit, because if Sherlock has convinced him about this, something as simple as liking a crap TV show, then what else has he John convinced of? Is there really nothing John knows about him, something that's genuinely Sherlock?  

"You are _unbelievable_ ," John says, spitting out the word like an insult. He'd very much like to insult Sherlock right now, call him a prick or a first class jerk or something alike, but he can't. He won't. He's not going to lower himself like that, maybe that's even what Sherlock wants because once the insulting begins it's the end of the argument. John refuses to end it this soon.

"I can't-- What else did you make me believe?"

The lack of answer from Sherlock's part is aggravating. John's back to wanting to punch him, though this time he thinks a blow to the chest would do the trick. Possibly.

"What else, Sherlock," he demands. For once he's the one ordering around. It's refreshing, but not quite the point.

"I'm _thinking_ ," Sherlock answers, annoyance seeping in his voice. John's certain he's not even half as annoyed as he is now.

"And I'm _asking_ you something," he says in return, putting the cup on the table (too close to an experiment but he doesn't notice) and crossing the kitchen to stand next to Sherlock. He rests his left hand on the counter to prevent it from hitting Sherlock in any way.

"What," he starts slowly, realizing he's losing his patience. "Else."

John counts to fifteen in his head before he decides he has enough of it, and instead of leaving it be like he's left so many things be, he pushes Sherlock away from the fridge to close the door and stand in front of it, arms crossed. Sherlock looks stunned. It's nice to know John can do that to him too, sometimes.

"Answer me."

"What was your question?"

John takes a deep breath. "What other things did you make me believe, other than you liking crap telly."

Sherlock looks like a lot of digging is needed to get an answer out. John decides he has time, screw relaxing, and makes sure Sherlock knows he's not just going to get out of this. Not this time. Sherlock lets out a sigh.

"Too many to tell."

"Then tell me the most important ones."

John actually really hopes that they're not too important. He doesn't want to find out Sherlock is a woman beneath all those clothes, or that he's not married to his work but an actual human being who genuinely _loves_ him and -- this would be even more shocking -- whom _he_ genuinely loves in return. Or perhaps that he's not a consulting detective but a mentally ill patient, and Lestrade is his caretaker who plays along just to humour him.

Actually, that'd make a lot of sense. John still hopes it's not anything like that, though.

"Fine," Sherlock huffs out in the end, very much against his will, and he gets that look in his eyes which says he's about to ramble. John prepares for it. "I made you believe I barely sleep while I sleep nearly every day, unless there's a time sensitive case going on, just like I made you think I don't care about money, and while we're on the subject I'd also like to inform you that in general, I do care."

"Ok--"

"Not finished," Sherlock snaps, now annoyed he's been interrupted. "I'm not resentful towards my brother for the reasons either I or he made you think, and while you think I do, I don't notice everything about everyone the moment I lay eyes on them simply because what I can do isn't done automatically, which explains why I never really suspected Moriarty to be 'Jim from IT'."

John waits respectfully just in case Sherlock's taking a dramatic pause, but when it seems like he's done John allows himself to think about all he's been told. He gets stuck on the money part, but quickly throws it aside because Sherlock just told him that he cares. Like any normal human being.

Wait a minute.

"Are you trying to make me believe you actually care while you really don't, so I'll tell everyone about it and make you look more human?"

He feels quite victorious when Sherlock gives him a guilty -- though not apologetic -- grin. John can't stop himself from beaming.

"Not as stupid as you thought, huh?"

Sherlock's grin freezes, and John feels even prouder. Surprising Sherlock (and leaving him speechless in the process) is always a fun thing to do, even if it's not done intentionally. Now it's entirely intentional, however, and that makes John even happier.

"So I'll assume the resent towards your brother isn't true either--" John is more inclined to believe Mycroft over Sherlock, at times. "--but that last one sounds... interesting." Too interesting to be a lie. "It's like a switch, then? You can turn it on and off whenever you like? You're not bombarded with information about someone when you see them?"

Sherlock's frozen grin melts and turns into a somewhat proud smile. "Exactly."

"And your brother's the same, then?"

Another shock. John is doing well today. "That doesn't have anything to do with this."

"No, but I was wondering. He can do it too, can't he?"

Sherlock's expression turns sour, like it always does when Mycroft is mentioned, and usually John lets go of the subject at hand, but... well, he's been holding on for quite a bit now, just a bit more won't hurt him. (And if Sherlock happens to fall dead due to too much mentions of his brother, then it's all good -- John's a doctor, isn't he?)

"I suppose we are similar in that way," Sherlock says, nearly growls. It's then that John remembers all the (luckily rare) times he found the siblings together in either the flat or somewhere else John arrived late at, and each time they deduced something about him and Mycroft, surprisingly enough, nearly always corrected Sherlock.

John's eyes widen in realization. "He's better than you," he says softly, at first, before repeating it louder. "He's better than you, isn't he? He's better at this entire deducing thing. Is that why you can't stand him? Because he's _better_?"

"He's no such thing," Sherlock says, and promptly leaves the kitchen to go into his room and -- most likely -- sulk. John happily watches _Come Dine With Me_ that night.

\--

Sherlock lies on his bed on top of the sheets and watches the ceiling. He hears John say something to the telly, probably one of the contestants of that stupid dining show he's keen to watch, and has to keep himself from sighing.

He lets out a breath of relief, though, because even though he had to give away a couple of secrets, at least John was wrong about the most important ones. If someone, anyone, ever finds out Sherlock cares, then everything he's ever worked for will go to hell. As will the persons and things he cares about.

It's best to remain as alone as possible, because not only does it protect _him_ , it also protects the people around him.


End file.
